tomato peppermint

While working with zapotec tomatoes, it occurred to me that the hollow-lobed bottoms would make an interesting case for a filling. I didn't have to look far, as there was fresh milk curd forming in a pot on the stove.

fresh cheese-filled tomato

peppermint pain de mie

black garlic aioli

Nearly every country in the world makes a form of fresh cheese. They vary by origin/type of milk and the process used for curdling. Curds can be formed by acidulation with vinegar, lemon juice, buttermilk, or yogurt. Cottage cheese and ricotta are made from the cooked and drained curds, while a variety of acid-formed fresh cheeses such as farmers cheese, cream cheese, quark, feta, chevre, queso fresco, and paneer are formed from the pressed curds.

Curds can also be formed by the enzyme chymosin, found in the stomach of calves and available as rennet. Chymosin coagulates the milk solids (casein) into a solid mass that can be eaten in the soft-set stage (when sweetened, this is a popular dessert known as junket), or drained and pressed for a sliceable cheese. These were the curds that were forming on the stove and used to fill the tomato. Cutting off the bottom of the tomato allowed the whey to drain while the curds compacted.

Pairing peppermint with tomato was a 'happy accident'. Actually, it was borne of laziness– I didn't want to run to the garden for basil in the pouring rain, so I grabbed some peppermint that was sitting on the windowsill for the salad that I was assembling.

True peppermint (Menthus x piperita) is a hybrid of watermint (M. aquatica) and spearmint (M. spicata) and can only be propagated from cuttings and not from seeds. Peppermint brightens and compliments the flavor of the tomato much the same way that basil does, but with menthol overtones. A quick search confirms that they are indeed chemically linked in aroma.

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Immediately after publishing this post and pulling it up for review, I was struck by how the tomato/cheese component resembles a peppermint candy. I promise this was not intentional and I am just now aware of it!

Was it subliminal? serendipitous? a cosmic alignment? complete coincidence or a mischievous peppermint pixie guiding my hand?

I've no idea–I'll just chalk it up to another of those WTF moments that leave me smiling and shaking my head in wonder.

umami burger

Wait, wait, don't go…you're at the right place. Really, you are.

I know…I'm giving you a burger. But it's a special burger. Let me tell you why.

First, this is no fast food burger. It's about as slow as it gets. The hangar steak for the burger was marinated for 12 hours, then dry-aged for 3 days. The shittake buns needed to rise (twice) before being baked into soft pillows. The tomatoes were slowly roasted in a low oven to concentrate their flavor, then reduced to a paste on top of the stove. The onions were slowly caramelized, then dried until crisp in a slow oven. Even the cheese was transformed.

But the whole point of this burger is flavor. The kind of synergistic deliciousness that comes from the layering of glutamate-rich foods that produce the taste of umami.

Umami–the fifth taste–is a chemical reaction that takes place on our taste receptors to produce a pleasant savory taste. As far back as 1825, Brillat-Savarin described the taste of meat as "toothsome" which is similar to the Japanese interpretation of "deliciousness". Brillat-Savarin also sagely foretold that the "future of gastronomy belongs to chemistry". As it turns out, it was chemistry that led to our understanding of glutamates, a type of amino acid, and the discovery of the synergy that occurs when foods containing glutamates are combined, the resulting taste is increased and magnified exponentially. [Does that make umami a fractal taste?].

Recently, scientists have uncovered the way that glutamates activates the nerves on our tongues. Referred to as the "Venus flytrap" mechanism, "Glutamate lands on your tongue and nestles into a glutamate-shaped depression on an umami receptor. Upon contact, the receptor–an enormous, folded protein–changes shape and grasps the glutamate. That shape change also activates the neuron that tells your brain you are tasting umami. Inosinate(compound found in meat) and guanylate(compound found in mushrooms) can bind to a seperate part of the umami receptor. Once bound, they tighten the receptors grip on glutamate, increasing its ability to taste up to 15-fold before the receptor relaxes its grip."

To understand this principle, we have only to examine the intuitive use of umami in world cuisine and how it has led to the foods that we crave. In Italy there is the popular trio of bread, tomatoes and cheese that takes on many forms. In the US, we have the burger and fries–an umami symphony of beef, bread, cheese, tomato, and potato. Mexico has its tacos and wide use of cornmeal and black beans. England loves its fish & chips and Australia knows the secret of Vegemite. Every culture has its versions of charcuterie and fermented beverages. But it is perhaps Asia that has the most extensive and refined applications of umami with their use of fermented soy products, seaweed, cured fish, and mushrooms–all sources of highly-concentrated glutamates.

Interestingly, we have glutamate receptors in our stomachs as well as our mouths. When the receptors in the stomach are stimulated, they send a message to the brain, which then sends an order back to the stomach to start digesting. Latest studies show that glutamates may play an important role in our digestion of protein. Wouldn't it be nice if, for once, something that tastes good turned out to be not only good for us, but essential to our health?

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Umami Burger

The beef:

Beef is a glutamate goldmine, particularly when cured or aged. To that end, hangar steak was marinated in soy, fish sauce and dashi, then dry-aged and combined with fresh chuck eye steak.

Dashi–a simple broth of kombu and bonito–is loaded with umami. It contains 3700mg of glutamates per 100g.

Recipe: Umami burgers

The bread:

Breads are a good source of glutamates because of fermentation, a process that unbinds protein molecules and allows the release of bound-up glutamate.

Dried shittakes (used here) contain 1060mg of glutamate(guanylate) per 100g as opposed to fresh, which contain 71mg/100g. The dough also contains soy sauce and fermented black beans to produce an incredibly savory and fragrant bread with a soft texture attributed to the addition of milk and eggs.

recipe: Shittake hamburger rolls

The tomato:

Ripe tomatoes have 10 times more glutamates than unripe. Roasting tomatoes also concentrates the glutamates and deepens the flavor. Kecap manis (sweetened soy sauce) is added in the reduction stage to increase the umami and mimic the ripening.

Most of the umami in tomatoes is concentrated in the seeds and inner membranes, so be sure to leave them in when cooking and strain out later.

Recipe: Tomato kecap

The cheese:

Parmesan has the highest concentration of glutamates among cheese with 1680mg per 100g. As a general rule: the older and drier the cheese, the more umami. Because Parmesan is very dry, it doesn't make a good "melty" cheese–a requirement for a good burger–yet there had to be a way to make it work. Digging through online science journals, I hit on the secret to making processed cheese. It's as simple as using sodium citrate as an emulsifying salt. With just two ingredients–sake (for umami) and sodium citrate– it became possible to turn dry and crumbly Parmesan into a soft and supple sheet.

Recipe: Pliable parmesan

The potatoes:

Pre-cooking potatoes with dry heat is the best way to achieve a crackling-crisp crust with soft, fluffy innards and the microwave is much quicker than an oven.

Scoff if you want, but I make my fries at home in the microwave. On second thought, don't scoff until you try it. The process is so simple and the results so satisfying that you'll wonder why you never did it this way before:

Recipe: Microwave fries

montbriac pear endive ginger bread

Somedays, the path from concept to execution is clear and linear, where flavors and textures that are united in the mind manifest themselves on a plate with smug accuracy. But the palate doesn't lie. Not even when the brain falls under the spell of an ingredient. That hussy–the quince–she had me completely seduced.

Blame it on the Montbriac, the instigator of the incident. Upon tasting the RocheBaron* creamy blue cheese, I knew that I wanted to highlight it in something more than a cheese plate. With the tangy funk of Roquefort in mind, I flipped through my mental catalog of flavors. Intuition, through the filter of experience, produced the following hits: ripe fruit esters, bitter greens, warm toasty aromas.

Ginger bread instantly found its role. Ground and toasted with walnut oil, it fit the profile that I was after. Belgian endive hearts, caramelized in brown butter, reinforced the nuttiness and introduced a mellow bitterness and succulent, crisp texture.

The pieces fell into place. The path was clear. Then, it happened.

Reaching for the ripe Bartletts on the counter, my attention wavered to the neighboring quince.

"Hello" she said "why not choose me instead of Mr. Predictable over there. I am the unexpected twist that your dish needs."

I should have followed my instincts, which told me not to listen to a love child of the rose and the apple.

Looking back, I think my resolve shifted when she swayed me with the spicy, floral fragrance that she can only release when ripe. She was a fruit in heat and I am a whore for heady aromas. That was my unraveling…but, the truth is that she had me at hello.

And so, I spent the ensuing hour trying to coax her into playing nice. The problem was that she insisted on being the star. She made the cheese feel rubbery, the endive taste flat, and robbed the ginger bread of its spice. They all threatened to walk off stage if she were not recast.

Meanwhile, the Bartletts stood in the wings, quietly mocking me. They did not protest when I reduced them to a fragrant juice. Or, when I blended them with LM pectin and a touch of calcium, transforming their texture to that of pear confit.

With the spell broken and a cleared head, it was no surprise that the rest of the cast cheered when the pear entered the stage and that the dish received rave reviews.

* RocheBaron Montbriac is a rich and creamy blue cheese with an ash rind. Made in Pouligny-Sainte-Pierre in central France, it is the product of a successful experiment resulting from injecting Roquefort mold into a soft Brie.

ginger dog

Enough with the globetrotting and history lessons. Let's eat!

ginger dog

sweet pickle powder

whipped chili

mustard creme

ginger mustard crisp

Hot dogs have been on my to-do list for a long time. Every now and then I would spot the bookmark signaling to me from between the pages of Michael Ruhlman's "Charcuterie" but for one reason or another, I've never gotten around to them. I think that they were waiting for ginger bread and ginger beer to draw them out. Some things are worth the wait.

ginger dogs

beef hot dog nuggets

Traditional hot dogs can be made by forcing the paste into sheep casings, which are then smoked, grilled, or roasted. Here, they are formed into bite-sized nuggets.

2 1/2 lbs meat and fat from about 5 lbs of beef short ribs

1 Tblsp salt

1 tsp pink curing salt

1 cup cold water

1 Tblsp dry mustard

2 tsp ground ginger

2 tsp paprika

1 tsp ground coriander

1 tsp black pepper

1 Tblsp finely minced garlic

2 Tblsp light corn syrup

Cut meat into 1" cubes and grind through the small holes of a meat grinder. Add salt, pink salt, and water. Mix thoroughly, cover, and chill for at least 24 and up to 48 hours to cure.

After curing, add the remaining ingredients and toss. Regrind the meat through the small holes of a meat grinder. In 3 batches, process the meat in a food processor until it is reduced to a fine paste. To make nuggets, place a heaping Tablespoon of paste in the center of a square of plastic wrap. Gather up the ends and twist to form a ball. Tie with twine. Sous-vide at 65C for 30 minutes.

ginger batter

Finely ground (in a spice grinder) and toasted (300F oven for 8-10 minutes) ginger bread stands in for traditional cornmeal, lending the batter an alluring aroma. The yeast in the ginger beer, along with the baking powder transforms the thick batter into a light and crisp crust.

1/2 cup toasted ginger bread crumbs

1/2 cup flour

1 Tblsp sugar

1 tsp dry mustard

1 tsp baking powder

1/2 tsp salt

1 egg, lightly beaten

1 Tblsp melted butter

1/2 cup ginger beer

Stir together dry ingredients. In a separate bowl, whisk together egg, butter, and ginger beer and add to dry ingredients. Stir until well incorporated.

To make ginger dogs, impale each pre-cooked hot dog nugget onto the tip of a skewer. Dip in the batter, twirling to form an even coat. Deep-fry in 375F vegetable oil.

ginger bread bourbon cocktails

"She who wakes to play with cocktails goes to bed with hangover"

– Ancient Chinese proverb

Red Hot

Is it just me or do red hots and fireballs taste more like ginger than cinnamon?

Rub rim of shot glass with a cut piece of ginger root. Dip in pulverized red hot candies. Gently warm ginger bread bourbon. Pour into shot glass. Ignite. Don't do anything silly like try to drink it while its on fire.

Spice Island

This is the kind of cocktail that I could drink all day (if I were inclined to drink all day)…light, bright and well balanced.

Place 180ml (6 oz) ginger beer, 60ml (2 oz) ginger bread bourbon, 30ml (1 oz) kaffir lime juice, and 15ml (1/2 oz) agave nectar in a cocktail shaker. Fill with ice. Shake and strain into a chilled highball glass.

For spice-ice stirrer: Plug one end of a wide straw with softened beeswax. Pack with alternating layers of whole cloves, shards of cinnamon stick, diced fresh ginger root and pieces of kaffir lime leaf. Slowly fill with water, tapping lightly to eliminate air bubbles. Plug top of straw with more beeswax. Freeze until solid. Remove plugs and unmold by quickly dipping in warm water. Use immediately.

Bourbon Ball

In the Alinea book, the liquid-filled spheres are made by dipping molded frozen apple juice in horseradish-infused cocoa butter to form a shell. Here, because alcohol does not freeze solid, the shell is made first in silicone molds with an opening and then filled.

For the spice shells: Place molds in freezer. Melt cocoa butter with ground ginger, cinnamon, cloves and nutmeg. Fill the chilled molds to the top and let the cocoa butter set up for a few minutes. Invert the molds, letting the excess cocoa butter run out. Place in freezer until frozen solid.

To fill the shells. Blend together 4 parts ginger bread bourbon, 2 parts creme de cacao and 1 part frangelico. Fill the shells, then seal the opening with cocoa butter.

For the nutella powder: blend together 2 parts tapioca maltodextrin with 1 part nutella until it is absorbed.

smoked eggnog

Infusing with Lapsang Souchong tea is a quick and effective way to impart smoky flavor. That little trick is courtesy of Dave Arnold and Nils Noren.

Place 228g (8oz) whole milk in a saucepan and bring to a simmer. Stir in 28.5g (1 oz) Lapsang Souchong. Cover and let infuse for 10 minutes. Strain and chill. In a bowl, whisk together the chilled milk, 285g (10 oz) heavy cream, 114g (4 oz) ginger bread bourbon, 85g (3 oz) sugar and 3 eggs. Strain into a whipped cream charger, filling halfway. Charge with 1 N2O cartridge. Chill for an hour. Shake well and discharge into cup.

For ginger bread croquant: Grind 60g of ginger bread in a spice grinder into a powder. Spread out on a baking sheet and bake in a 300F oven until toasted and dry. Heat 40g isomalt until fluid and bubbly. Pour out on a silpat. Let harden, then break into pieces and grind in a spice grinder into a powder. Combine with the cooled ginger bread powder. Spread out on a silpat into desired shape and bake in 300F oven for 8-10 minutes or until fused.

ginger bread

I'll be the first to admit that I am easily distracted. This trait sometimes frustrates those around me when they require my attention. Oh, I recognize when it's necessary to focus on a task at hand–lest the cookies burn and the cakes turn out dry, but there are times when doing menial things (like separating eggs or sifting flour) that I allow my attention to wander and ask questions.

For instance: Why do we call it gingerbread, when it's actually cake?

The answer can be found in the rhizome ginger root, and its introduction to Europe.

Medieval Europeans quickly developed a passion for ginger and other spices when they proved to mask the odor and flavor of meat that was preserved without the benefit of refrigeration. Fortunes were made and lost as spice merchants, spurred by the frenzy for spice, charged exorbitant prices. Ginger was highly prized and commanded the highest price, second only to black pepper. But, as with all financial markets, what goes up, must come down.

When spices became accessible to the lower classes, cooks became more creative. The early forms of gingerbread were unbaked confections consisting of ground almonds, honey, ginger root and spices that were pressed and molded. These were called gingerbread by the English, after the Latin zingebar, meaning preserved ginger. Eventually, stale breadcrumbs were added to bind the mixture. Later, the additions of flour, eggs, and butter transformed the dense paste into the lighter and refined versions that we now know and love as lebkuchen (from Germany), pain d'epices (from France), and panforte (from Italy).

Today, in North America, gingerbread is commonly known in two forms: cookies and cake. Though both honor their origins with a blend of spices: ginger, cinnamon, nutmeg, and cloves, neither contain yeast or can be classified as bread.

Which leads me to ask: Why do we not flavor bread with this evocative blend of spices?

This question never crossed my mind until it first crossed my nostrils. This is what happens when you bake brioche alongside of gingerbread cookies and you allow yourself to be distracted.

ginger bread

(spice brioche)

makes 1 loaf

starter

30g (2 T) lukewarm water

39g (3 T) molasses

70g (2.5 oz) unbleached AP flour

.8g (1/4 t) dry yeast

1 egg

Blend all ingredients together in the bowl of a stand mixer until the consistency of a thick batter. In a separate bowl, mix together:

180g (6.4 oz) unbleached AP flour

4g (1 1/4 t) dry yeast

3.5g (1/2 t) salt

38g (3 T) microplaned fresh ginger root

7g (2 t) ground cinnamon

5g (1 1/2 t) freshly ground nutmeg

2g (1/2 t) ground cloves

Sprinkle this mixture on top of the sponge. Cover tightly with plastic wrap and let stand at warm room temperature for 2 hours.

With the dough hook, mix the dough briefly, then add 2 eggs, one at a time, while beating at low speed until they are incorporated. Raise the speed to medium and beat for about 5 minutes, or until the dough is smooth and shiny, but soft and sticky.

With the mixer turned back to low speed, add 113g (4 oz) unsalted, soft butter, bit by bit, waiting until each addition is incorporated into the dough, until all of the butter is added. Cover tightly and let dough rise at warm room temperature for 2 hours.

Deflate risen dough by rapping sharply against the counter. Transfer dough, tightly wrapped in the bowl to the refrigerator. Let chill for at least 6 hours or overnight.

Prepare an 8 1/2"x4 1/2" loaf pan by lightly greasing. Scrape the chilled dough out onto a floured surface and deflate by pressing with hands, while forming a rough square. Fold the dough in thirds, like an envelope, rolling into a cylinder that is about the same length as the loaf pan. Tuck the ends under and transfer the dough into the loaf pan. Grease the underside of a sheet of plastic wrap and cover the loaf pan. Set aside at warm room temperature to rise for 1 1/2-2 hours, or until it has risen to the top of the pan. Preheat the oven to 425F. Whisk together 1 egg with 1 t milk to make an egg wash and brush it lightly over the top of loaf. Place in preheated oven and bake for 30-40 minutes or until a digital thermometer, inserted into its center, reads 190F.

foie brioche macaron

foie and brioche macaron with raspberry, passion fruit and fig dip

French macarons are the stuff that fetishes are made of and empires are built on…just ask Prince Pierre of Paris. Once, you had to travel to the City of Light to worship at its altar. Now, the Cult of Macaron has spread to all corners of the globe.

It is said that the macaron was introduced to the french via Catherine de Medici, though any frenchman worth his almond flour would argue that point. What is known for certain is that the original macaron was a humble cookie, a combination of egg whites, sugar and ground almonds. No additional flavorings or filling.

In Sofia Coppola's 2006 rendition of Marie Antoinette, there is a scene with the young queen and Ambassador Mercy that features the modern, brightly colored macarons. Its interesting that this modern version–a flavored and filled cookie sandwich–was created by a grandson of Laduree, over 100 years after Marie Antoinette's death. Even more interesting is that Laduree provided the pastries for the film.

Initially, the modern version of the macaron consisted of the original almond cookies sandwiched together with chocolate ganache. For the next 80-90 years, the flavorings remained simple: vanilla, chocolate, coffee, raspberry. It wasn't until the late 1990's that Pierre Herme began to seduce parisiennes with his annual haute-couture collections of sexy flavor combinations: olive oil and vanilla, passion fruit, rhubarb, and strawberry, white truffle and hazelnut, cream cheese, orange, and passionfruit, and my personal favorite–litchi, rose, and raspberry.

Nearly all of the flavor in these macarons is found in the filling. The cookies are largely left alone with the exception of food coloring, cocoa powder or chocolate, and in some cases, flavor essences. It is neccessary to maintain the delicate balance of ingredients in order to produce the crisp/fragile shell, the chewy/soft interior, and the characteristic "feet". With this in mind, I had to ask myself if there is any room for play.

The role of egg whites and sugar is fundamental. I've made macarons with methocel–they're not the same. That left me examining the almond flour. I understand its function; it provides structure and texture, but it also makes the flavor of macarons invariable and can be detected no matter what accompanying flavors are used. This, I realized, was a starting point.

As luck, or providence, would have it, I had a loaf of brioche on hand. I saw no reason why finely ground and toasted bread crumbs could not stand in for almond flour.

Macarons are notoriously capricious to make and my early attempts were hit-or-miss. It was only when I realized though the ingredients are simple, the technique is critical, that I began to get consistent results. Precisely following the procedure: leaving the egg whites at room temperature for 24 hours, sifting all dry ingredients, whipping the egg whites just until they hold their peaks, gentle folding, careful piping, leaving them to dry for 30 minutes before baking, ensured the control that was neccessary to determine if failure was caused by product, and not technique.

I am happy to report that both were a success. They came out of the oven looking perfect. The texture is right and the flavor captures the nuances and complexity of toasted brioche. The only question that remained was what to fill them with. As if I even had to ask.

Making macarons with bread crumbs is like getting a new playset at the playground. The potential for fun seems endless:

pumpernickle, pastrami, mustard

rye, smoked salmon, cream cheese

foccaccia, tomato, mozzarella

saltines, peanut butter, jelly

graham crackers, marshmallow, chocolate

oreos!

tollhouse

doughnuts, coffee

piecrust, apple, cheddar

…OK, I'll stop now.

foie cake

You've been looking forward to this meal for some time.

You've chosen the restaurant because you heard that the food is playful.

You're here because you're hungry, but not just for food.

You order the tasting menu.

You don't read through the courses because you want to be surprised.

You're now three courses in.

You're know you're hooked because you can't stop smiling.

Course #4 arrives.

The server sets down a plate in front of you.

He tells you what it is then walks away.

You don't hear him because you're looking at your plate.

You see that that there's a tiny cake on your plate.

You glance at the table next to you to see if you've gotten their dessert.

They're eating fish.

You're confused.

Then you smell foie.

You pick up your knife and cut into it.

It cuts like a cake.

You pull out a wedge and inspect it.

It looks like a cake.

You take a bite.

It's not what you expected.

The left side of your brain runs for cover.

The right side comes out to play.

You expected it to be sweet.

It's not.

You taste tart cranberries, sweet shallots, dry wine.

You taste toasted brioche.

You taste foie.

You don't taste cake.

The left side of your brain whimpers.

The right side giggles.

Your mouth is making plans to come back next week.

foie brioche

Brioche is the Coco Chanel of breads.

Her timeless appeal spans generations and cultures. A portent of good taste, she is a welcome accessory on any table.

Her distinctive perfume; a complex affair of bacteria and yeast, enriched with the elegance of eggs and butter, is a classic.

Even classics are fair game for refinement.

And what, I ask, is more refined than brioche and foie? Perhaps…brioche made with foie?

If you see someone sear or roast foie, and then proceed to discard the lovely, gorgeously-flavored foie butter….please tell them to stop!